"I suppose you would like to hear how this old boat gets along and what kind of a voyage we've had so far. When we left the wharf at Boston, I called the men to come out of the forecastle and go to work, but the answers I got weren't very polite. They called out, 'we want to make our beds up; don't get your temper in an uproar; don't fret' and some other remarks that you can fancy. I got pretty mad, and I just picked up an iron belaying-pin and went into the forecastle and made Rome howl. All hands turned on me, and I had all the fighting I wanted. Things got too hot for me and I had to go aft and ask the old man to come in and help me. I thought he would be very glad to have such a chance for "spiflicating sailors" as he calls it, and some men I've sailed with wouldn't have asked for better sport than to walk into those sailors and make them take the measure for their coffins on deck. The way the old man showed the white feather surprised me. He got on top of the after-house, with a pistol in his hand, and called to the men to come aft, and talked to them as mild as a sucking parson. They were pretty sullen, and five men swore they wouldn't do a hands turn of work on board. The old man told me to put them in irons, and I did it without much trouble, for they had too much headache to make any more fuss. I put a rope through between their wrists and triced them up with the main lift tackles till their feet only just touched the deck. It wasn't long before they wanted to turn to. One was hurt so bad that we thought he would die, and he has been laid up the whole passage. I have had several sprees with the men since, but now I only have to hold up my finger and they mind me. The old man doesn't say much to the sailors, but he's down on the second mate, who is a youngster, and doesn't know much, and he hazes him when he wants to let off steam. We are loading for Boston, and I hope we will get there soon, for I've been about long enough in the "Dublin." I hope you'll get a good ship and a captain that'll suit you, but they are scarce fish to find." The ship was sold on her return, and the captain entered another employ. His vessel finally went to Australia. When riding horseback he was thrown, and broke his ankle. The doctors declared amputation was necessary. With his usual contempt for medical opinions he drove them away, and thought he could apply to his own case the skill he had exercised on Old Harry, but in a few days he died of lockjaw. His end appeared significant to those who knew how his powers of speech had been misused. CHAPTER X. COAST OF MADAGASCAR. "A strong nor'wester's blowing, Bill; Hark! don't ye hear it roar now? Lord help 'em, how I pities them Unhappy folks on shore now!"--_Wm. Pitt._ "In noble minds some dregs remain. Not yet purged off, of spleen and sour disdain."--_Pope._